Existing

It was interesting.  I recently decided to go through my letter box and photo albums.  Strangely enough there were letters I wrote and never sent.  One I found intriguing that I want to share.  The letter was this:

Relfection – upon life, the future, the past.  Time passing.  Struggling to make time a friend, to alter my perception of it as a foe – as a theif.  I fear it, creating perpetual thoughts of what was, wishing I could embrace that which was and return.  I long to be in that place where mother’s hand was smooth, where not yet had developed the creases in Dad’s forehead.  Time then had not yet sucked the moisture out of life.

I want to be a child held and loved.  When mother kissed a bruise and softly swept a tear away.  But in knowing this impossibility, I give my son what I long for.  I hold him close and caress his soft plump skin.  Embracing him is embracing life.  So close – yet I feel so far.  As though I do not exist – or should not exist – or should not exist in his life.

I sit and watch my husband and son and feel so removed from them.  This creates a sense of non-being.  I ache at this.  My heart feels torn – irreparable – until the small child reaches and asks for a hug.

Emotionally I consider myself the equivalent of yo-yo.  I fall and rise just as quickly.  My ability to deal with stress is quite pitiful.  I somehow transform into a self-destructive monster filled with inner turmoil.  This inner turmoil – like a hungry creature – eats at my insides.  To satisfy this hunger, I eat.  I try to fill the void – to feed the creature.  Then I purge my soul.

Oh, it didn’t start that way.  I started swallowing food at a very young age – to avoid humilitation caused by sitting at the kitchen table hours after everyone else had left… because I had to finish everything on my plate, but didn’t want to.  Sometimes I just fell asleep.

I don’t know how this would have ended back over 25 years ago when I wrote it, but it was telling for me today.  I am so blessed that I don’t feel any of that anymore.  That I hugged that baby who is now 28 just two days ago and didn’t feel apart, or that I did not exist.  I exist, and I love my life, and I hope that this will help anyone going through what I went through to know, you exist.  To more people than you know.

Existing

It was interesting.  I recently decided to go through my letter box and photo albums.  Strangely enough there were letters I wrote and never sent.  One I found intriguing that I want to share.  The letter was this:

Relfection – upon life, the future, the past.  Time passing.  Struggling to make time a friend, to alter my perception of it as a foe – as a theif.  I fear it, creating perpetual thoughts of what was, wishing I could embrace that which was and return.  I long to be in that place where mother’s hand was smooth, where not yet had developed the creases in Dad’s forehead.  Time then had not yet sucked the moisture out of life.

I want to be a child held and loved.  When mother kissed a bruise and softly swept a tear away.  But in knowing this impossibility, I give my son what I long for.  I hold him close and caress his soft plump skin.  Embracing him is embracing life.  So close – yet I feel so far.  As though I do not exist – or should not exist – or should not exist in his life.

I sit and watch my husband and son and feel so removed from them.  This creates a sense of non-being.  I ache at this.  My heart feels torn – irreparable – until the small child reaches and asks for a hug.

Emotionally I consider myself the equivalent of yo-yo.  I fall and rise just as quickly.  My ability to deal with stress is quite pitiful.  I somehow transform into a self-destructive monster filled with inner turmoil.  This inner turmoil – like a hungry creature – eats at my insides.  To satisfy this hunger, I eat.  I try to fill the void – to feed the creature.  Then I purge my soul.

Oh, it didn’t start that way.  I started swallowing food at a very young age – to avoid humilitation caused by sitting at the kitchen table hours after everyone else had left… because I had to finish everything on my plate, but didn’t want to.  Sometimes I just fell asleep.

I don’t know how this would have ended back over 25 years ago when I wrote it, but it was telling for me today.  I am so blessed that I don’t feel any of that anymore.  That I hugged that baby who is now 28 just two days ago and didn’t feel apart, or that I did not exist.  I exist, and I love my life, and I hope that this will help anyone going through what I went through to know, you exist.  To more people than you know.